This curse, this motorcycle bug, still has hold of me.
41 degrees and 50% chance of rain today greet me when I arise, and I don my gear anyway, and ride to the office.
My speedometer cable squeals from 20 mph to 60 mph for a few miles, til things warm up. Wind gusts of 20 mph try to sneak into my leather. My only vulnerable spot is my throat, which is open to the air.
I arrive dry, anyway, if not warm. Fingers are a little stiff from the cold. Could use better gloves.
My buddy, who sits next to me, didn't ride his BMW R1150R today. I chide him because he even has heated gloves. "If I had hundred dollar heated gloves by Gawd I'd use em."
"You could just drive your car," he said.
"Hadn't even occurred to me," I said.
This evening's ride home catches me in a wintery rain when I'm just 10 miles out.
No sense donning the rain suit for just 10 miles.
My wife kindly wipes my leathers down for me when I arrive home. Bike just drips dry in the garage.
"Done for the season?" she asks, though she knows the answer.
"Hell, no! There's no rain in the forecast for tomorrow," I reply. "And you know, aside from my throat, I'm not even cold or wet."
She gave me a sideward glance. Maybe she just had an idea of what to get me for my birthday, next month.
Ride on!
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